“That was fun,” said Hale, when everything was packed up. He surveyed the tidy stack of folding tables in the storage shed behind the municipal building with a satisfied nod.

“You have a weird definition of fun,” grumbled Zoe. “I think I would’ve gone with freezing or miserable.”

“Aw, c’mon, Zoe. It couldn’t’ve been that bad. You stayed all day.”

“It was, in fact, that bad. Worse, even. I was just… waiting. For someone.” Zoe crossed her arms.

Hale twinkled at her in his annoyingly handsome way. Zoe rolled her eyes.

“The charm doesn’t work on me, Farraway.”

“What’re your plans for the Saturday after next?” asked Hale.

“Hale, I just said the magic doesn’t work,” said Zoe, exasperated.

“I’m not inviting you on a date, Zoe. Well, not on a date with me.” Hale’s eyes glittered. Zoe had just spent an afternoon watching teenage girls swoon over those eyes, but she was not impressed. “A little bird told me that someone was bringing a goose to the interfaith holiday potluck.”

“Was that little bird reporting a murder?” asked Zoe.

“That was an ill considered turn of phrase,” admitted Hale. “But will you be there? I think someone would like to see her favorite customer.”

Zoe bit her fingernails. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said Hale. “You just have to bring something for the potluck, and something for the food bank. It’s at the grange, Zoe, not All Saints,” he added, answering her next question before she even had the chance to ask it.

“I’ll think about it,” said Zoe, even though they both knew she would go.